


Masters in Reverse Psychology

by Corvin



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: College AU, M/M, dean!Eames, semi-Coffee Shop AU, student!arthur
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-14
Updated: 2014-06-13
Packaged: 2018-02-04 14:05:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1781758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Corvin/pseuds/Corvin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eames makes a couple of unfavorable first impressions on Arthur before he finally gets it right.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Masters in Reverse Psychology

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lolahardy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lolahardy/gifts).



> The name of the fic has nothing to do with Arthur's area of study. 
> 
> I'm sorry Lola, I'm a terrible friend. 
> 
> PS - this is unbetad
> 
> PPS - I'm a terrible writer

The first time he saw Eames, it was from afar at a school rally. It stuck out for years in Arthur’s mind because instead of the usual MADD parade of stories that honestly brought sympathetic tears to Arthur’s eyes, it was a different group. 

The Principal introduced them as community service volunteers who were there to tell them the dangers of underage drinking. Among the first to get up share his testimony was a wide shouldered man who was clearly intoxicated. He was somewhat thin under his loose tie and untucked shirt, but he had a presence that demanded attention. All eyes were on him as he stumbled up to the microphone, grinned with crooked teeth, and spoke in the most slurred British accent Arthur had ever heard. 

“Right,” he said, swaying dangerously towards the edge of the short platform. “Yes, name’s Eames, and I’m here to warn all of you about a thing. A thing, right?” 

He held out his hands and looked around the room with an expectant gaze. “And that thing is a warning. I’m warning you that you are all going to die alone. Do you think you’re happy now?” He laughed and it ended on a little, breathy whine.

Arthur wasn’t sure if he was watching brilliant propaganda or a sweaty train wreck. He cringed in disgust when Eames wiped his mouth moistly on his sleeve. 

“Trust me, most of you—in fact, aproximently ninety-nine percent of you are going to break up, be bitter, then go to a community college for three years before breaking up. Again. Double break up.” 

Ariadne stuffed her fist into her mouth at that point to stifle her giggles. But Arthur didn’t share her humor. On the one hand, he felt the same way when he watched the couples in the quad, flirting as though their relationship was something special. On the other hand, the idea of having something (anything) in common with ‘Eames’ was as offensive as it was troubling. 

“Excuse me,” said a girl at the front. Arthur recognized her as the girl who sat in front of him in English and wore vintage dresses every day. “But where did you get your numbers? You can’t make a general statement about all of us.” 

Eames seemed briefly confused by the voice. He looked around again, this time with less humor, until he spotted the girl at the front. They were locked in a staring match that Eames blearily lost before he spat, “I said approximately, you prepubescent cunt.” 

The entire student body began making noise, whether it was laughing, shouting, or swearing back at him. Arthur opted for chuckling helplessly while the flustered Principal ushered Eames out of the gym. 

-

The second time Arthur met Eames was three years later at a gallery showing.

After graduating high school, Arthur decided to take a year off to work. He liked the idea of making his own money and establishing his adulthood before continuing his education. As luck would have it, his friend, Dom, worked with a catering company and was kind enough to put in a good word for him. 

Arthur only had one single training shift before their company was booked for a large party. Arthur’s boss was practically salivating when he told them they’d be catering at a gallery for a new up and coming French Girl in the States. (At least that was what the unimaginative banner read.) 

He stood at the makeshift bar in the corner while Nash, the bartender, was in the back getting Arthur more hors d’oeuvres to hand out. Personally he thought the art was nice, but trite. Sure she painted a pretty picture of fish, but he didn’t see what made it any different than anyone else painting fish. 

Whatever. It wasn’t his job to critique the work; it was his job to feed the people critiquing the work. 

“Excuse me, love.” A throaty voice said against his ear. 

Arthur had seen the move before, it was supposed to be sexy, but the strong smell of cheap booze wafted across his face and he gagged and twisted away. He recognized Eames immediately and had the brief thought that in the years between his appearances Eames hadn’t been sober once. 

Arthur cleared his throat and straightened his back. “Can I help you?” 

“Yes,” Eames sidled closer and wrapped his arm around Arthur’s shoulder. “I have a cup here, you see?”

He was in fact holding a red solo cup. Considering that they were serving refreshments in champagne flutes and clear cups, Arthur was left to assume that Eames brought the cup himself. “Yes…” 

“Good, good.” Eames looked around before leaning in secretively. “The art is terrible and I hate it. So I will need you to fill this cup here,” he wiggled the red cup, “with a veritable fuck ton of alcohol.” 

There was a two drink maximum and Arthur told him as much. 

Eames sighed loudly. “Darling,” he said, “I’m going to hand you this cup and you will put something in it. If it doesn’t keep me off my ass for the rest of the evening, I will be returning.” His voice dropped and he asked, “Do you understand?” 

Arthur looked between the empty cup and the serious expression on Eames’ face. It had to have been the shock of running into such a person, out of all the people in New York, because Arthur huffed and took the cup and filled it with Grey Goose vodka from behind the bar. “If anyone asks, Nash gave it to you.” 

“Of course.” Eames winked and slid a hundred dollar bill across the counter. “It was a pleasure, Nash.”

Arthur stared down at the tip, and then stuffed it quickly into his pocket. Well, as far as drunks went, he supposed Mr. Eames wasn’t too bad. 

-

Arthur met Eames for the third time four years later. 

“I have to go,” he insisted for the third time. He’d been on the phone with Ariadne for nearly an hour, but he was still having a hard time getting her to say goodbye. In her defense they’d been playing phone tag for a couple of weeks, but he really didn’t have the time. “I have a meeting.” 

It was sort of a meeting. He had a window of time, but he didn’t know how many other people would be there.

After a year of working, Arthur found he actually had a very difficult time motivating himself to go back to school. He took an extra semester off even after he finally managed to convince himself, only to find a single class for the spring semester open class he was interested in taking. (Late registration appointments were a bitch.) 

Thankfully college schedules were a lot more flexible that high school. He fit his general education classes in around hanging out with friends and looking for a job. After that he finally declared a major.

It was only community college, but it was still an education, and he decided he wanted to transfer to a university with an AA in Communications under his belt. Besides, it was a cheaper, easier way to make connections with people in the educational field, so it was win-win for him. 

Unfortunately, despite taking public speaking, interpersonal communications, debate, and a couple other classes, Arthur still found he had a slight problem with talking in front of people. It went beyond normal stage fright and into this hellish realm of blushing, mumbling, and on one occasion, throwing up. 

His counselor suggested he try an acting class to focus more on learning stage presence. 

So there he was, waiting outside a nondescript office in the portables that made up the theater department for any teacher to show up. It was three weeks into the new semester already, but Arthur was desperate to squeeze another class into his schedule. He couldn’t be a communications major who couldn’t talk in front of people. 

He perked up when he heard voices approaching from down the hallway. It was the first sign of life since he arrived, other than a surly student who seemed to be retaking a test. Arthur smoothed down his shirt and stood up to wait for the approaching voices to reach him. 

“—Bloody pile up and I had to take surface streets all the way from Main Street.” 

“Oh, I heard about that.” A dark skinned man with fluffy black hair rounded the corner first. He stopped in his tracks when he spotted Arthur. “Oh hello, chemistry or theater?” 

Arthur blinked, “I’m sorry?” 

“Don’t mind him.” A familiar figure sidled around them to the door. “He’s sharing office hours with me while his gets cleaned.” 

“I really thought Lola wouldn’t mind my office once I put a cat tree in there.” The dark man sighed forlornly and looked at Arthur. “Do you have pets, uh?” 

“Arthur,” he offered his hand. “I don’t have pets, no.” 

“They’ll break your heart.” The man said solemnly. “Now, Eames for theater, me for chemistry.” 

“Don’t see him if you’re here for chemistry.” Eames whispered at Arthur’s shoulder. “He didn’t even realize his cat and a cluttered office would be a bad mix.” 

Arthur laughed weakly, noticing the lack of alcohol on Eames’ breath more than his actual words. Maybe it wasn’t fair to expect the man to be a complete lush his entire life, but he left some truly long lasting impressions on Arthur. 

Eames grinned back at him and opened the office door. “But you’re here for theater, aren’t you?” 

“How did you know?” 

Eames looked down pointedly at the admission slip in Arthur’s hand. “Lucky guess,” he drawled. “Please, come in.” 

The office was small and eclectic, but neater than Arthur would have guessed. He stepped past the plastic chair next to the door and stood in front of Eames’ desk. Eames and the other teacher shared a few quick words before the teacher excused himself and left. 

Eames scooted around to the other side of the desk and sat down. 

“Now then,” he said, lacing his fingers together. “What do you need?” 

A few seconds to catch his breath might have been nice. After so long with a certain mental image of a person, it was strange to see them as anything else. Arthur cleared his throat and placed his admission slip on the desk. “I need your signature to add a class.” 

“It’s a little late to decide you want to be an actor.” Eames raised an eyebrow. “Do you need the units for a full course load?” 

Arthur shook his head. “I have thirteen units right now. But Into to Acting fits into my schedule perfectly, and it won’t put be over eighteen units.” 

Eames glanced down at the paper, leaning back in his chair. Then he looked up at Arthur with consideration. “Why do you want to take this class?”

“I,” Arthur looked down and he felt his ears turning red. “I can’t talk in front of people. I thought this might help.” 

He jumped when Eames clapped his hands loudly.

“Well that’s a valid reason if I ever heard one.” Eames announced, dropping the front legs of his change back on the ground. He plucked a pen out of a mug on his desk and scrawled a signature across Arthur’s admission slip. “Just promise me you’ll do you best, yeah?” 

“Yeah,” Arthur sighed with relief and took his paper back. “Thank you so much, sir.” 

“Any time, Arthur.”


End file.
